


Wool & Cashmere

by Capt_Jack_Whatever, LemonCurry (Capt_Jack_Whatever)



Category: Close My Eyes (1991)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bisexual Male Character, Daddy Kink, Eventual Smut, Gay Male Character, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 07:41:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30085737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capt_Jack_Whatever/pseuds/Capt_Jack_Whatever, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capt_Jack_Whatever/pseuds/LemonCurry
Summary: Sinclair is late to picking up Brendon on their date, so Brendon takes matters into his own hands to remind him
Relationships: Sinclair Bryant/Reader
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, my first FINISHED multi chapter fic! Hooray!! This was birthed from discord dms with my friend Maddie and it has now become a full fledged fic! I hope you enjoy
> 
> This fic is dedicated to my friend Maddie as a belated birthday present <3

He was late again; but not just slightly tardy, no- he was  _ late _ . An hour and three minutes late to be precise. For an hour and three minutes Brendon had been sitting on his couch waiting for a knock on his door. Dressed and groomed in one of his most formal suits, he had fiddled endlessly with it, trying to match his shoes to his belt and his watch with the overall formality of his outfit. It took him ages, partly because he wanted to prove to his date that he could look presentable. Or at least attempt to be. But now, an hour and three minutes after he had finally sat down and began to wait (which was right at the scheduled time) he still had nobody to show his presentable appearance to. Brendon had called him multiple times, and every time was taken to the answering machine. It was beginning to piss him off. This had happened in the past, sure, but it was with less formal dates. Nobody cares if someone arrives late for a picnic. But when you have set reservations for 7:30 at one of the most expensive restaurants in the city, it becomes more of an issue of reputation and financial business when one is late. 

Speaking of 7:30, it was 7:04 already, now an hour and four minutes. Brendon ran the time over again in his head bitterly. An hour and four minutes late. He was supposed to pick him up an hour ago, there they would have a few drinks and be in each other’s company before finally heading to the restaurant. But that was now an hour and four minutes in the past, and never had taken place. Brendon sighed heavily, taking his hand away from the phone once again. There was still time, perhaps there was just traffic. 

_ You’ve been telling yourself that for an hour and four minutes now.  _

He was beginning to get tired of waiting- being hyper aware of time passing was only going to drive him mad. 

_ Just pick him up yourself if you’re gonna whine about it. _

Brendon sighed again, running his hands down his face. Once again he had to push the relationship along, to be the one to put in work, and he was tired of it. Sinclair was an adult and he had Brendon practically spoon feeding him, of course it wasn’t his fault that he barely had the motivation to roll out of bed, and it hurt to think of him moping about in his home all alone. But he had made a promise. He had said that he would pick him up at 6:00pm, to dress nice, and that he would drive. 

_ Fine, I’ll pick him up.  _

Brendon concluded, now standing from the couch and checking his watch once again. 7:05, unconsciously his mind made a mental note of it. 

_ An hour and five minutes now. _

Well, it was no longer up to Mr. Bryant to escort him, or...it was, but not in his car. Brendon threw on his suit-jacket, grabbing his coat off of the hanger by the door. He debated on taking a hat but ultimately decided it would be too much. Besides, he’d have to take it off inside anyway. 

Brendon arrived at Sinclair’s house at 7:10, an hour and ten minutes after the scheduled time. The drive (though incredibly short) felt like forever, and he was happy to finally arrive after resisting the urge to speed like a mad-man. The sun was beginning to sink as he pulled into the driveway, the fading light casting a shadow on the large house. He couldn’t help but think it looked a bit eerie sitting there, not that it differed too much from the other houses, but there was something strange about how regal it sat upon the grass. Like it was watching him, whispering to itself, wondering about the nature of the intrusion. To Brendon, the house reflected its owner: rich, bright, and complicated. There were small intricacies to the outward building itself that kept up its seemingly simple appearance. Brendon grumbled, he wasn’t here to dawdle at the architecture. If the house wanted to watch him, so be it. 

Brendon knocked hard on the door, even ringing the doorbell in his annoyance. He was losing patience as well as time, each second seemed to be an eternity as he stood fidgeting on the doorstep. He knew that the man was home, he saw his car in the driveway as he pulled in. It took so much of his willpower not to rear end it, though in his emotion Brendon believed he still probably should’ve. 

_ He wouldn’t even answer the damn phone, that fucker. _

At that thought, Brendon pounded on the door. That seemed to produce a reaction, because a few seconds after he practically punched the door, it opened. 

Sinclair Bryant, the man who had stood him up, leaned out of the frame. shielding his eyes from the setting sun.

“What?” He asked harshly. 

“You were late.” Brendon said flatly. 

The man blinked, lowering his hand but squinting his eyes. 

“Oh it’s you...” He sounded mildly bewildered. “Please, come in.” 

He then opened the door for him, and as Brendon walked in, he took a good look at his date. 

The word “rumpled” came to his mind as he looked at him, mostly because he was still wearing his work clothes which were now wrinkled. His tie was loose around his neck, and his hair was a disheveled mess. The stubble that Brendon had remarked upon the week before had now turned into a full beard, a look that was strangely very handsome on him. 

The house was on the same page as Sinclair. The coffee table in the living room was cluttered with papers and books, his leather briefcase opened onto the floor with forms hastily stacked inside it. It wasn’t a horrible mess, but enough to suggest an uncaring feeling about one’s surroundings. 

“I’m sorry about the mess, I must’ve forgotten to clean when I got home...” 

Sinclair said tiredly as he shut the door. 

Brendon hardly cared for the state of the house, he was more disturbed by the fact that Sinclair had seemingly forgotten completely, not even perceiving his accusation, or his visit. 

“It’s fine, my condo’s worse...” He said quickly, dismissing the apology. 

Sinclair chuckled a little in response as he shut the door. 

“To be honest you woke me up when you knocked, I practically passed out after work.” 

The pieces began to come together in Brendon’s mind. 

_ So that’s why he didn’t pick up the phone.  _

He now felt a bit guilty at himself for being so harsh, and the frustration of the past melted away into only mild annoyance. It was good to see him sort of bustle about, even if they were going to be late. 

“Are you hungry?” He heard Sinclair ask, he was now making his way to the kitchen, talking as he went. 

“I still have quite the amount of bread left that I made from those blueberries you bought me, though it’s so sweet that it can nearly be called cake.” 

Brendon made his way to the bar-area in front of the kitchen, resting his elbows on the surface and shaking his head in silence. Even as rumpled as he was, Sinclair was still handsome. He reminded one of a scruffy teddy bear found in a thrift store. The kind that was still soft and sweet- one would look at it and know that it had been loved, and feel guilty it was given away. Well, Brendon was here to love the teddy bear again, and also put him through the wash. 

“What’s the occasion?”

The question ripped Brendon from his thoughts. He hadn’t realized Sinclair had finished getting out the bread and was now facing him across the counter. 

“Hm? Oh right...“ Brendon had nearly forgotten about the reason he came, which was ironic considering that he came there to remind Sinclair. 

“The occasion is in fact you...” He smiled playfully, keeping the tone light. 

Sinclair’s eyebrows rose then furrowed as he processed what had been said. 

“Really? Well, it’s a very nice suit, very er...slimming.” 

He popped a piece of sweetbread into his mouth as he spoke, wrinkling his nose a bit as he began to chew. 

“I really made this much too sweet, didn’t I?” 

Brendon chuckled, pushing the plate of sliced bread closer to him. Part of him wanted to pry further into the meaning of  _ “slimming”  _ but the topic had already shifted. 

“More for me then.” 

Sinclair scoffed. 

“I swear you could eat raw sugar cubes and it still wouldn’t be sweet enough for you...” 

“I’ve tried that actually, I used to eat spoonfuls of sugar when I was kid...tried once again in university, and I don’t recommend it.”

Sinclair laughed, it was a good sound to hear. It had been a while since he heard him laugh.

“The things we do at university...”

Brendon now laughed, conversations with Sinclair were easy for him, though it was also easy to go into one with a set goal and come out of it with an entirely new one. Part of him wanted to keep talking, the man was in a good mood tonight and he didn’t want to ruin it. But the money that he spent on those reservations gnawed at Brendon mercilessly, and if they didn’t make them he would never let himself live it down. 

“You forgot our date, Sinclair,” Brendon said, keeping his tone as gentle as he could. “You were supposed to pick me up at six.”

The smile on the man’s face faded, and his expression became that of moderate confusion. For a moment he thought, even opening his mouth to speak before closing it again. Brendon bit into the sweet bread, watching his expression change wordlessly. 

_ “Oh!” _ Sinclair exclaimed finally, his eyes wide and blinking with realization. Brendon couldn’t help but sigh with mingled emotions of relief and annoyance. 

“Yes my darling,  _ ‘oh’ _ indeed.” He said gravely, allowing his more harsh emotions to reveal themselves. 

Sinclair groaned, his whole body seeming to sink into the floor. 

“I’m sorry...Oh God and you probably called me to remind me didn’t you?”

“About six times...” Brendon said honestly. 

“SIX TIMES?“ 

This produced yet another agonized groan from Sinclair, who ran his hands down his face. There was a moment of silence between them, Sinclair taking a few deep breaths into his palms as Brendon nibbled absentmindedly on the bread in front of him. 

“What time is it?” Sinclair asked, taking his hands from his face and straightening himself. 

Brendon checked his watch, his heart beginning to pound against his chest as he did. 

“7:14...” He said. 

Sinclair had taken his plate and was putting it in the fridge. He closed it with a sigh. 

“I guess we can’t make it can we?” He then looked at him. “I’m...very sorry Brendon.”

The eyes are what got to Brendon- the pleading puppy pupils of pity. The emotional eyes of empathy, heart-wrenching retinas of ravaging reaction. The worst of it was that those eyes were completely sincere, he  _ meant _ it. It pissed him off so much, it pissed him off that he couldn’t be pissed at him. 

“Sinclair...” He sighed again, lowering his gaze to his hands. He wanted to bang his head on the kitchen counter. 

“We can reschedule!” Sinclair floundered, his pacing footsteps echoing across the walls. “Or we can just eat here, I don’t mind doing that-“

“I don’t  _ want _ to eat here.” Brendon’s voice rose in his frustration. “I’m tired of eating here, I’m tired of only seeing you at home or calling you at work.”

He raised his head, finding Sinclair’s eyes. 

“I want to go out, I want to go somewhere with you.” 

Sinclair shied away from his gaze almost immediately. Brendon reached for him, taking his hand and squeezing it.

_ Please don’t hide from me. Please let me help you. _

It was hard on him- it was hard on  _ both  _ of them. Hard on Sinclair to try and keep himself sane after the nightmare of his divorce, and hard on Brendon to remain patient enough to guide him slowly back into love again. He couldn’t fix him, and he couldn’t force him either. Even with therapy (which Brendon made sure Sinclair attended) it would take time. Wounds will heal slowly. They will leave scars, but they will heal. Still, he wished he could have known Sinclair before all the pain. There were glimpses of it, or what he could only assume were glimpses. Flashes of the eccentric talkative man he heard so much about. He would never be the same man again. Perhaps _ almost _ the same, but never exactly. There was no going back to the past, and for Sinclair, he probably would never have a carefree summer again. 

Brendon looked at the hand he now held, thumbing the knuckles gently before leaning down to kiss it. 

“It is good to see you though...” he remarked softly. “I missed you...”

He brushed his cheek against his fingers. 

Sinclair slipped his hand from under his cheek, and placed it in his hair. 

“I missed you too,” Sinclair said, “and I don’t want to fight...”

Brendon sighed again, his cheek now cold against the marble counter as he slumped against it. 

“But we  _ are _ fighting.” 

A thought brushed by him, perhaps he could make do with another at-home date. He could settle...that way Sinclair wouldn’t be upset. 

The thought rattled him, it rattled him so much that his head shot up from the counter, half startling Sinclair. His brain thrashed at the notion of it, buzzing like a hyperactive songbird against its cage. Never in this relationship had Brendon ever felt as if he had to settle, move it along, yes, _ but never settle _ . He never felt that he had to hide himself. He was insulted at himself for feeling that way now. 

He then checked his watch. 7:25, they had time; they had all the time in the world. He could save this evening. He had to, for the dignity of Sinclair and his money. 

“No.” 

Sinclair blinked, confused, until their gazes met. Through them there was a silent understanding, a communication of feeling between the two. Sinclair could almost read Brendon’s half crazed expression, and he didn’t like what he saw. 

“Darling please-“

“I didn’t come here in one of my best suits for you to mope about with sweetbread...” 

Sinclair sighed, scratching at his beard again.

“It’s a very nice suit.” He remarked quietly. Brendon slammed his hand down onto the counter. 

“Of course it is! That’s why we are going!” 

Sinclair jumped at the noise and the sudden spike in volume. 

“But we have no time darling...” He had that sort of pleading tone, half whining. It was a dangerous tone to use with Brendon. Not because it made him angry, but because it did quite the opposite. 

_ He loved to hear him beg. _

Brendon leaned over the counter, a Cheshire smile spread wide across his face. 

“Why is it you always call me darling when you try and talk me out of something?”

In the fading light he swore he saw Sinclair blush. 

“Because you’re always soft for it,  _ darling _ ...” there was the slightest pause before ‘darling’, and he dipped his voice into a low rumble as he said it. Enunciating the word slowly, practically caressing every syllable. 

Brendon faltered, it wasn’t fair that he was horny bastard, and it doubly wasn’t fair that Sinclair knew it too. The way he could rob the wordsmith of his words by the utterance of a syllable. The fact that he could turn the esteemed literature professor of South Kent University into a floundering, wordless, stammering mess with a glance was  _ not _ fair indeed. 

Brendon would not allow himself to be swayed. Perhaps later...after he ate. 

“I’m soft for many things my darling boy.” He said, tracing his fingers against Sinclair’s cheek. “But stalling for time is not one of them.” 

He gave his cheek a good pat and leaned back to the stool he was sitting on. Sinclair’s eyebrows raised, and for a moment he gaped at him incredulously. 

Brendon wanted to remark upon his abilities of seduction bearing equal to that of his lover, but he held his tongue. He wanted to see Sinclair squirm for a few more moments. 

And the man did indeed squirm, his eyes ran all over the room to avoid him. He chuckled awkwardly and cleared his throat, hands now beginning to fiddle uselessly for something to preoccupy his attention. Of course, he found none, and went back to his usual practice of fiddling with his own fingers. He chuckled again.

“Y-you really got me there with that...” He said, his gaze flitting sheepishly to meet him. “That was...very good.”

Brendon, who had been gazing at him with an unclear mix of fascination and enamor now laughed. 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.” He chuckled, leaning back over the counter again. 

“Would it be better if I kissed you?”

It had been a bit of a time since they kissed, well, it had been a bit of a time since they had actually seen each other. Brendon was busy with his job at South Kent and Sinclair was busy with work- they talked on the phone when they could but for all of the past week they had not once laid eyes on each other. 

Sinclair’s eyes flickered to his lips for a moment and he smiled. 

“Yes I think it would.” He said quietly. 

So they did just that, and Brendon could feel his brain explode with dopamine as their lips connected. It was a gentle kiss, but a long one as they did miss each other, and when they pulled away Brendon couldn’t help but to peck his bearded cheek. 

“Now go get dressed while I call the restaurant.” He said, ruffling his dusty blonde hair. 

Sinclair chuckled, that lazy smile still painted across his features. 

_ Oh how he wanted to kiss him again. _

He could kiss him for ages, run his hands through his hair and across his skin, lavishing Sinclair’s soft lips with his own. But there wasn’t time for that...at least not now. There was dinner to save, and by the time Brendon had fully emerged back from his own thoughts Sinclair was already gone to get dressed, leaving him to make for the telephone in the living room. 

After a bit of an awkward call with the fine-dining establishment in question, Sinclair finally trotted down the stairs. His suit was nicer than Brendon’s, a stone grey cashmere with a spotless white dress shirt and intricate grey tie. But the envy of the suit itself was pushed aside by the fact that the looser fit of it flattered him very well. Not that it was too big on him, Sinclair was not that sort of man, but the way the fabric draped and ruffled in all the right places sent a flurry of butterflies to Brendon’s stomach. 

“I hope this isn’t too much, it was the first non-rumpled, nicer-looking suit I could find when I looked.” 

Brendon gaped at him, awestruck and dumbfounded. He had never seen Sinclair dressed this nice before, and his emotional reaction to it was probably akin to that of a hydrogen bomb going off. 

“I didn’t think I had time to shave either, since we’re in such a hurry.”

Brendon blinked. Now remembering himself, yes they were in a hurry. But that didn’t stop him from fawning over him like a lovestruck toddler. 

“You look wonderfully handsome darling...not too much at all...”

The words sort of fell out of his mouth, and he ran his hand along his suit coat. He could make a joke about how Sinclair himself said to dress nice, but his brain was too buzzed on lust and romantic pride for comedy. 

“What did the restaurant say?”

The question forced Brendon to recollect himself, and his hands fell from his chest. 

“Uh...yes they said that they could hold it until 8:15 and it’s-“ Brendon then checked his watch. 

“7:45 now so-“

“So we better get going.” Sinclair finished, he had that jaunty tone. Sort of a verbal equivalent to a dog wagging its tail as he began heading toward the door. 

Brendon pulled Sinclair back toward him. 

“Mm wait a moment, you look too nice to just wander off like that.” 

Sinclair chuckled. 

“But we’re wandering together aren’t we?” He asked softly. 

“Not without a kiss first.” He said. 

Sinclair obliged him, though Brendon pulled him back in for a few more short kisses before they finally pulled away, heading toward the door. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the food I was looking at for reference made me hungry...but as of writing this note I’m drinking a mango smoothie (a decent replacement)

Sinclair escorted him just as he promised, even using his own car instead of Brendon’s (of course Brendon had to go out to his car to get his overcoat back). They made pleasant conversation on the fifteen minute drive there, speaking only about topics they felt comfortable with. Sinclair complained about the cold weather and Brendon kept turning the heater down to keep from sweating. But nevertheless, they arrived safely. 

There was a light snowfall as they stepped out into the parking lot, and Sinclair bundled his overcoat around him. 

“You’ll wrinkle it if you do that...” Brendon remarked as he closed the car door. 

“It’s gotten colder, I didn’t expect it to be this cold.” 

“In the middle of February?” Brendon chuckled. 

Sinclair shot him a harsh pout before locking the car and shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

“They better still have our table inside.” 

He practically speed-walked toward the front of the restaurant. Brendon had to jog to catch up with him, and he caught himself before linking his elbow to his arm. It had been a while since they were out in public together, and it was strange already that two men reserved a table  _ alone _ at a fine-dining restaurant, even more so showing up in the same car. Sinclair was a successful businessman, and himself a professor- and it was trouble enough with the epidemic going on (with reputations to uphold and whatnot), so Brendon instead busied himself with buttoning his suit-coat until they finally reached the entrance. 

Brendon had spoken briefly to the hostess on the phone and she looked just like he imagined her to. She was a tall, elegant woman, perhaps a little older than Sinclair with an expression dripping in rehearsed-charisma. Earlier, she had picked up on the strangeness of two men going to a fine-dining restaurant alone, she had that sort of tone on the phone. A physical interaction with her was not something Brendon was looking forward to. Though Luckily, it was Sinclair’s turn to deal with people (As the reservations were in his name), and Brendon now only had to silently worry about the validity of the notion that two business associates could go to dinner without much fuss. 

Once they were seated and handed menus, that anxiety began to fade. Sinclair still looked wonderful under the dimmer light of the restaurant, and he seemed completely unbothered by the events, which was a large help in soothing him. Plus, he was smiling (and that was a priority). 

“See? Isn’t this better than sitting at home in the dark?” Brendon asked after they had been served their drinks. 

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Sinclair huffed. “The food is better at least...”

“I hope so, I’m starving.” 

Sinclair took a short sip of wine, now scanning over the menu. 

“Now what would you like? I personally recommend the boeuf bourguignon, I used to get it every time I came here, which wasn’t much anyways but I remember it always being good-“

As he spoke Brendon took the liberty of checking the price, and it took willpower to not physically react to it. 

“Oh, n-no...” Brendon said finally when he had an opening. 

Sinclair looked up from the menu. 

“Why not? It’s the heartiest thing on the menu, and you said you were hungry, it will fill you up very well, I guarantee it.” 

“It’s one of the most expensive things on the menu, I couldn’t-“

“So what? I’ll pay.” 

His brow furrowed, obviously he had picked up on Brendon’s financial insecurity. 

“And don’t you even start on how I shouldn’t be ‘wasting my money’ on you, money was made to be spent, and right now I have rather too much of it laying around with no purpose so I’d rather use it now then let it rot in a vault somewhere else.” 

The harshness and speed at which he spoke silenced any protest Brendon could consider. It was true, Sinclair did have a lot of money, and it probably wasn’t healthy that a divorced 37 year old man with as much money as he did shut himself up in his estate. 

“Plus,” Sinclair continued with a gentler tone, “it feels good to be spending money again, I can’t remember the last time I bought something over 100 pounds, so think of it less as a gift to you, and more as a...service to myself.” 

And with that he took a sip of wine. 

A silence fell upon them as Brendon processed the lecture he was given. 

“Only you could frame something as nice as paying for someone else’s dinner into a selfish act in a way that wouldn’t offend me.” Brendon chortled, now more tickled than offended. 

“I knew that was the only way you’d ever accept it.” 

Brendon raised an eyebrow before scoffing. 

“Sometimes I think you know a little too much for your own good.” 

He then smiled, and raised his glass to a toast. 

“To selfish acts veiled as gifts.” He declared. 

“To paying for someone else’s dinner.” Sinclair added pridefully.

They clinked their glasses together, giggling stupidly at their own joke. 

The night was going along quite smoothly. The waiter was relatively pleasant, and they had ordered their food and were now waiting. Both men rambled back and forth about literature, films, and even at one point different plant life. Sinclair loved plants, he adored greenery of any kind. He said the air always felt cooler and fresh when there were plants around him. Brendon, who could barely keep a cactus alive, found it absolutely adorable that this high-class businessmen spoke of plants like a beloved puppy. 

“If only there were more people like you Sinclair, maybe then the world wouldn’t be such a mess.” Brendon said fondly. 

Sinclair rolled his eyes. 

“Must you always be such a pessimist?” 

“Only when it suits me.” 

Sinclair chuckled, keeping eye contact as he leaned in across the table. 

“Maybe you should stop reading the news so much my dear..” he half whispered. 

The pet name irked Brendon, and he smiled awkwardly and leaned away looking around to see if people had heard. 

“Not here.” He said quickly. 

Sinclair sat back, obviously disappointed as they fell into an awkward silence. 

Across from their table, to the left of Brendon and Sinclair was a couple doing the same thing as they were. The woman in a sleeveless navy gown with a shawl draped across her shoulders, the man in a suit much similar to Sinclair’s only a lighter grey. Across the table their fingers were linked, and they leaned toward each other whispering. When Brendon and Sinclair’s silence deepened, Brendon looked over to them. His heart wrenched in jealousy and desire, not for the man or the woman. 

_ But for their freedom.  _

He stared hopelessly at their intertwined hands, the small whispered laugh of the woman as the man spoke to her. The blush on the man’s face as he did. It was like watching someone live your perfect life in front of you, and leaving you out in the street to beg. He turned from them, brain aflame with envy as he downed the rest of his glass in one long gulp.

“Our food should be here by now, it’s been practically a decade...” Brendon grumbled. 

Sinclair sighed, his face sort of tensed into that concerned yet exasperated expression one gets around grumpy unpleasant people. 

“Why are you looking over there? It’s none of our business what they do-“

Brendon went into a harsh angry whisper. 

“They’re being completely inappropriate.”

Sinclair’s eyebrow rose knowingly. 

“I never took you for the jealous type Brendon, staring at another man right in front of me?” His tone was as cold as the weather, his gaze even colder. 

“No! Th-thats not it at all!” Brendon flailed. 

“It’s just-It’s not fair...”

“Not fair that what? They can show their affection in public?” Sinclair answered his question harshly. 

“I wish you wouldn’t say it like that.”

Sinclair’s face softened, and he sighed. 

“As I said before, I don’t want to fight...”

“I just...I just want to hold your hand sometimes-“ Brendon explained, dropping his voice in volume. 

“And it’s not fair that you can’t.” 

“ _ We _ can’t,” he corrected. “Not even if you wanted to.” 

Sinclair’s warm smile melted Brendon almost to tears, he now felt even worse. 

“I don’t think that’s entirely true.” He said, then checked around for any approaching waiters before leaning over and lowering his voice. 

“You told me before about how our people would always find ways, be it green carnations or an earring on the left ear, they always figured something out and so can we.” 

Brendon was touched by his words, he had always felt guilty for bringing Sinclair into the community. Not because he was ashamed of who he was, but because he felt awful knowing that Sinclair was now at horrible risk as well. Call it paranoia, but Brendon was terrified of endangering his mental health even more that it already was damaged. He needed to choose his next words carefully, after all this date was his idea, and it would seem like a right shit move to drag one’s feet through their own idea. 

“You’re very kind...” Brendon responded slowly. “For saying that.” 

“It needed to be said.” Sinclair said. 

Brendon only smiled, his heart almost bursting with emotion over the man that sat across from him. After everything he had gone through, he was still full of love and it sometimes baffled him. 

“Now hold out your hand, under the tablecloth.” 

“What?” Brendon being jolted out of his own thoughts was becoming a repeating occurrence of the evening. 

“Hold out your hand, under the tablecloth.” Sinclair said smoothly. 

_ Oh god his voice _ . 

Brendon blushed a bit, but did as he was told. The table was small enough where they could link fingers without any difficulty. Brendon felt his ears get hot as he felt Sinclair’s hand, his index finger stroking his knuckle almost unconsciously. He leaned over and beckoned Brendon to do the same. 

“Good boy.” He heard him whisper. 

_ Good boy? Good boy?! Jesus Christ we’re in a fancy restaurant and he wants to call me a good boy?! And he calls me a horny bastard? _

Brendon’s eyebrows shot up, his brain practically blowing a fuse out. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game...” Brendon whispered back.

“Who said it was a game?” Sinclair now smirked. 

Brendon then threw his head back and laughed. Squeezing his boyfriend’s hand under the table as he did. 

“That doesn’t even make any sense!” He almost coughed in his merriment. 

“I...well...” Sinclair now pondered his words. “Oh yes I suppose you’re right.” He then laughed as well. 

_ God I love him, if only I could tell him I would practically scream it from the rooftop. ‘I love you my darling, my darling Sinclair.’ _


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want what they have...

Sinclair was right about the boeuf bourguignon, it was indeed very hearty. Brendon was so full by the time he finished he hardly had room for dessert, which Sinclair insisted on having anyways. 

“I thought you said you didn’t have a sweet-tooth?” Brendon asked cheekily. 

“For the exception of bread, I do.” He answered, licking his spoon clean of leftover ice cream. 

Brendon chuckled, his eyes following the flick of his tongue. 

“I still think that we should’ve gotten something...I don’t know...fancier?” 

He splayed his hand out in a gesture of ‘fancy’ that was more commonly known as jazz-hands. 

“Well-“ Began Sinclair, wiping his hand off with the napkin. “You like chocolate ice cream, don’t you? And I like it as well, so...why  _ not  _ get it?” 

Brendon shrugged and raised his glass. 

“I’ll drink to that.” He said. 

“I’m driving.” Sinclair added with a smile. 

They gave the waiter a large tip (by ‘they,’ I mean Sinclair), and both men, now fed and happy, trotted off toward the car, arms around each other’s shoulders. Brendon, whose spirits were promptly revived (as well as being a bit tipsy) even waved to the hostess as they left, thanking her for their wonderful time. She only waved back and smiled artificially, which Brendon didn’t mind at all. Once they got in the car, Brendon leaned for a kiss from Sinclair, but he was denied. 

“Let’s wait until we at least get out of the car park first dear,” he said gently, pushing his lips away with his palm. 

Brendon sighed, his eyes fixed on the small area of his neck exposed by his suit and collar. He was able to hold himself back until they got onto the open road before he slanted himself over and began to pepper a few kisses onto his neck and jawline. He could taste his cologne, the intoxicating smell filling up his nostrils as his lips explored his flesh, getting used to the ruff texture of his beard against his mouth. Sinclair’s breath hitched, and he leaned away from him, hands trembling on the steering wheel. 

“L-let me drive home first...” he sounded almost breathless. 

Brendon was a bit disappointed in being denied, but at the same time he was able to fluster Sinclair without a word, which always counted for something. Then again there was the  _ very big _ safety concern of driving on a winter’s night whilst doing borderline foreplay. 

“Alright,” Brendon sat back in his seat, “but when we get there...” Brendon trailed off with a smirk. 

Sinclair chuckled. 

“You’re so juvenile.” He said. “Just say you want to fuck me when we get home, let’s not leave it up to imagination.” 

Brendon snorted. 

“Keep talking like that and we might just have to pull over.” 

Sinclair chuckled darkly. 

“What was that for?” Brendon asked. 

“Nothing.” Sinclair said warmly. “Just thinking...”

And with that, Brendon was no longer in charge of the situation. 

Once they arrived back at Sinclair’s estate both of them had lost their charm. It was like watching two middle schoolers desperately try and hide their feelings for each other. Sinclair opened the door for Brendon, Brendon removed Sinclair’s coat and hung it up. Nothing was said for them to discourage each other, they were simply just unsure on when to begin. Brendon was expecting Sinclair to practically pounce on him once they arrived, and Sinclair probably thought the same of Brendon. It wasn’t until they sat down on the rumpled sofa that the subject was brought up. 

“Do you want anything?” Sinclair asked as they sat there. “Coffee? More wine...”

“Oh God no, I think I’ve had enough of that,” Brendon said. 

Sinclair sat back, glancing at him silently and taking off his suit coat. 

“I mean...I would like a kiss...” Brendon then spoke up. 

Sinclair stopped for a moment, then smiled. 

“How about I just give you one, whether you want it or not?” 

Brendon smiled. 

“I like that.” 

Sinclair lay his coat over the arm of the sofa and kissed him softly. It was short and lovely, but not really what each wanted. It was Brendon who finally acted on it, and now knowing that he had some permission kissed him again. Sinclair deepened the kiss, his larger hands cupping his cheeks as they sort of exploded against one another. 

It wasn’t long before their lips were practically crashing together, Sinclair’s hands dragging through Brendon’s dark hair almost desperately. His beard tickled against Brendon’s lips as his tongue explored his mouth, hands tugging against his dress shirt to bring him closer as he lavished his soft mouth. Sinclair pulled away suddenly, and panting he pet his cheek for a moment. Brendon studied his face, his lips kiss-reddened and face flushed. 

_ Oh the things I would do to you.  _

“Get upstairs.” Sinclair said. “Keep the suit on.”

Brendon was now beginning to understand what Sinclair meant by ‘slimming’. 

“And will you be joining me?”

“Of course...” 

They shared one last kiss before accompanying one another up the stairs. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is NSFW, hopefully if you read the tags you know what’s coming...if you didn’t...READ THEM
> 
> and if you don’t like NSFW, just skip this chapter it doesn’t add to the story (just me being self indulgent)

They split off once they got to the third floor, Sinclair going into his bedroom, and Brendon going to the hallway bathroom. He put on a condom, washed his hands (as well as other things), and brushed his teeth (out of habit). Part of him wanted to at least take the suit coat off, but he decided against it. He didn’t want to wrinkle it, but at the same time he was sure enough in Sinclair’s confidence that it wouldn’t be too damaged when they finished. 

_ I could always get it dry cleaned. _

Besides, it was just a suit, he would probably never wear it again in a year. 

He found Sinclair already sitting on the bed when he came in, his tie still loosened and ruffled from Brendon’s prying mouth. 

“You look wonderful darling.” Sinclair said. His eyes regarded him as if he were the face of God himself. 

Brendon smiled, walking over him and petting his cheek said. 

“Is that what you meant by ‘slimming’?” Sinclair kissed his fingers, rubbing his cheek up to them like an attention-seeking cat. Brendon flinched at the itchiness of the beard against him. 

"You really should shave..." He remarked, putting a knee on the mattress. 

"but not tonight." Sinclair murmured. He then pulled down on his tie and kissed him, Brendon's legs slowly straddling themself around his lap. He removed his suit-coat, mostly for mobility purposes. 

Their kisses became hungrier and hungrier, Brendon almost ripping off Sinclair’s tie in order to get to his neck. Undoing what felt like an absurd amount of buttons before his lips could finally wander all about his neck and chest. He smelled so good, especially right at his pulse points where the cologne was the strongest. Cologne and lavender made up Sinclair’s scent, somehow the lavender laundry detergent he used on his clothes lingered on his skin even when he had to switch it. His cologne was never too strong, always just barely a whiff. 

_ Oh but on his skin, _ it was like nectar. Brendon slipped up back to his lips, his hand trailing up Sinclair’s thigh. He felt him tense underneath him, moaning softly against his lips when he set his hand against his clothed erection. 

“I barely even touched you...” Brendon whispered playfully.

Sinclair brushed his lips against his, though he leaned away when Brendon tried to connect them. 

“Lay down on the bed for me, I want to try something...” His voice was a smooth breathy whisper. 

Brendon raised an eyebrow, though the caramel of Sinclair’s voice practically laid him down already. Half of him was disappointed that he wouldn’t be on top this time. At least physically, Sinclair may usually be the one under him but not once was he the one getting fucked. 

_ At least...not yet. _

He settled himself on the pillows, watching Sinclair with careful eyes. 

He crawled toward him, his shirt hanging open almost teasingly for him as he inched closer. He settled himself on top of Brendon, sitting right against the bulge in his pants. 

“Good boy.” He cooed, palming his erection. “You’re already hard for me...”

Brendon immediately bucked his hips at the friction, practically melting at the pet name. But Sinclair took his hand away and leaned down to undo his tie. 

“I can do that you don’t have to-“ 

Sinclair cut him off, “No no, don’t think I am acting solely on a lover’s kindness, Brendon,” he said. “I have ulterior motives...”

It took effort for Brendon not to burst out giggling like a teenager at his darker tone. But  _ damn _ was it attractive; his voice rumbled against his very bones, soft enough as to only address him. 

“Another selfish act veiled as a gift I hope?” Brendon asked, running his fingers along his collarbone. 

“You’ll see...” Sinclair said.  _ “Now let me undress you.” _ He caressed the words as he spoke them, almost edging Brendon with his voice alone. 

He went to work unbuttoning his shirt, the tie left undone around Brendon’s neck as he slowly moved down each button. It was almost excruciating for him, Sinclair was always somewhat of a tease. It was in his nature- it was almost as if he got off to seeing Brendon floundering in sexual frustration.  _ Oh but his voice, _ it could go right to his heart or his cock (mostly both) depending purely on enunciation. Brendon could only say the right words, whist Sinclair could wield them. 

Once Brendon’s shirt was finally off and tossed to the ground, Sinclair removed the loose tie from his neck. 

“Give me your hands.” He commanded. Brendon didn’t budge. 

“Why?”

Sinclair raised his eyebrow. 

“I don’t want you interfering.” 

The dark mystery of his tone sparked Brendon’s curiosity. 

“Interfering with what?” He asked cautiously. 

“Trust me.” 

Brendon slowly offered him his wrists, which he bound using the tie. It was a strange feeling not to have use of his hands. Usually Sinclair wanted to be touched, he needed it sometimes. There was hardly a time Brendon could recall where Sinclair wasn’t whimpering pitifully for his hands all over him. 

“I never thought you were one for bondage Sinclair...” He teased. 

Sinclair tightened the half-Windsor knot firmly against his wrists. 

“I wanted to try it this time, and I hope you enjoy it.” 

Brendon smiled stupidly, a flurry of butterflies swarming to his stomach. 

“I think I will.” He managed.

“Good.” Sinclair sounded a bit more secure in his intentions. “Now leave the rest to me.” 

_ Leave the rest to me? But that could mean so many things. _

Brendon began to try and contextualize all that he knew of Sinclair, a strange thing to do. They were extremely similar in both taste and personality, perhaps the only difference between them was in sexual experience. Sinclair all the meanwhile was trailing kisses across his neck, rubbing his cheek against his skin. Brendon flinched away at the rough sensation of his beard. 

“Still not used to it, are you?” Sinclair giggled against his neck. 

“Not on you, no.” Brendon’s heart was pounding in his chest, and his voice was much smaller than he wished it was. 

“Do you want me to stop?” His voice matched his smallness. 

“No!” He practically blurted out the word. “I-I sort of like it.” He blushed a bit as he confessed. 

Sinclair leaned up to his face with a small chuckle. 

“I only asked if you wanted me to stop...” He rubbed his nose against his before kissing it. 

Brendon sighed, meeting his eyes,“My dear you are such a tease...” he said with loving exasperation. 

“And you are easily flustered, darling,” he smiled again, before resuming to kiss along his jawline. 

He trailed his hands away along to the front of his throat, lingering to lick along his collarbone before making his way further down. Brendon watched him, hands bound and set above his head on the pillow. He wondered what he was planning to do by kissing down his front, not that he didn’t relish the feeling of his lips and nose against his bare chest and stomach. But from what he knew of Sinclair, there wasn’t much down there for him. 

_ I mean unless he plans on sucking my dick. But he hasn’t ever shown interest in that...Of course I could always ask.  _

It was a tricky question to simply ask someone if they were going to suck you off without sounding rude, and if he said no then it would leave Brendon being the bastard who had to ask. So he kept his mouth shut and decided to let events unfold to Sinclair’s liking. 

Then again, Brendon didn’t really need to ask. By the time he had finished wrestling with his thoughts Sinclair had slipped down to the hem of his pants. He then pulled away, unbuckling his belt. Brendon shifted uncomfortably as his hands worked so closely against his erection, feeling himself twitch as he threw the belt to the side. Sinclair noticed his reaction, his eyes flitting up knowingly before going to unbutton his pants. Brendon couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous, he had never been this... _ below the belt. _ The most Sinclair would do was a handjob now and again, but his mouth would never be anywhere-

_ Wait.  _

_ He’s not really going to... _

Sinclair had pulled his boxers down, exposing his desperately hard cock. In one gentle motion he peeled off the condom, and leaning down dragged his tongue up his length. 

“BLOODY FUCKIN CHRIST!!”

Brendon’s voice was a shrill squeak of a sound as he shot up from the pillows. His face tomato red and his eyes practically bugging out from his head. 

Sinclair only laughed, his index finger now teasing his tip. 

“Relax Brendon, I’ll go slow...”

The light stimulation of his finger made his legs tense, it was an almost raw sensation. There wasn’t any barrier between them, just skin on skin. 

“J-just be careful...I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” Brendon managed with a trembling voice. 

Sinclair hummed playfully in response, only confirming that he had heard him. His hand moved to his shaft as he licked his lips. 

He settled himself between his legs and took his tip into his mouth. Slowly, he brought himself lower...and lower...and-

_ Jesus Christ where’s the gag reflex of this man? _

Brendon never considered himself big- slightly above average, sure, but not enough to be “large”. But he was big enough where it was certainly not possible for someone to take all of it without gagging, and here was Sinclair... _ taking it all without gagging. _ The visual paired with the sensation of his cock against his throat sent him toppling backwards onto the pillows. His tongue swirled around his length, a low moan escaping Brendon as his head rolled uselessly on the pillow. 

Sinclair began to move, Brendon squirming against his restraints as he moved into a rhythm. His tongue focused purely on his tip, flicking back and forth as his mouth slid up and down his entire length. Brendon bucked his hips to his movement, his back arching with a flurry of moans. He wanted so badly to touch Sinclair’s hair, he could see it bouncing a bit from the movement of his head. 

_ “F-fuck darling...” _

One of his free hands massaged his balls. Brendon slammed his head onto the pillow, eyes rolling back into his head as he whimpered. 

_ Oh my god I’m close already. _

He felt Sinclair gag against him, his throat squeezing his tip as he thrusted for more friction to his incoming orgasm. He only moved faster, though he could hear him gag as he went on. 

“S-Sinclair...” He gasped. “Stop I’m already-“

His vision began to blur as he only continued, and he mewled desperately as his heels dug into the sheets. 

“Sinclair please I’m gonna-“

_ Too late.  _

In an instant he felt his orgasm take over, crying out he thrusted his way through it. Not even half aware of where it was going, only that he needed to ride the pleasure of it through. His cries trailed off into moans, and as the intensity wore down he became aware of what he had done. 

_ Oh God...I just came in his mouth... _

Hesitantly, he raised his head to see the damage he had inflicted on poor Sinclair. He was met with something startlingly different, he saw him slip his lips off his cock and  _ swallow. _ Brendon, who was already shaking from the buzz of his orgasm, now shook with complete surprise. He stammered helplessly. 

“You just-how-wh-you-“ 

“I always wondered what it tasted like...” Sinclair answered casually. “It’s...very salty.”

_ “I just came in your mouth!” _ Brendon finally exclaimed. “Jesus Christ Sinclair I didn’t think you were-“ He stopped himself. 

Sinclair sat up, wiping the drool from his lips. 

“I was what? A whore?” He asked. Brendon nodded confusedly. 

Sinclair laughed and leaned toward his face. 

“Here, let me untie you,” he chuckled, “I trust you won’t pounce on me once I do.”

His voice was still silky and warm, beginning to calm the storm of nerves that raged inside him. 

“I don’t think I could if I wanted to...” Brendon said. “I am utterly speechless.” 

_ “Almost.” _ Sinclair corrected, slipping the tie off his wrists. “You were almost speechless...”

Brendon raised an eyebrow, his free hands now petting his hair. 

“A doctorate in English literature and you’re the one correcting me.” 

He traced his other hand to his mouth, pressing his thumb against his lips. 

Sinclair slipped the finger into his mouth, giving it a good suck before pulling away with a triumphant smile. 

“I wanted to see if you missed any...” Brendon whispered. 

“Why not kiss me and find out?”

He didn’t wait for Brendon’s response before connecting their lips, opening his mouth for Brendon. There was a hint of what tasted like salt left on his tongue, and he pulled away. 

Sinclair giggled. 

“Don’t like how you taste?” 

Brendon smirked. 

“And you don’t?” He said. 

Sinclair kissed his cheek, and leaned up. He took the underside of Brendon’s knee in his large hand and slipped more of his boxers off with the other. 

“There’s no need for that...” Brendon said sitting up, blushing. “I-I could always return the favor.” 

Sinclair chortled. 

“No darling, I’d rather not silence that wonderful voice of yours...”

Brendon practically melted at his voice, his cock getting hard again. 

Sinclair glanced at it, then back at him with a knowing smile. 

“Besides, I’ve wanted to cum inside you since I saw you all laid out in front of me...”

He almost mumbled the words, his baritone reverberating within Brendon’s soul. 

_ Please just ruin me already... _

It wasn’t long before both Brendon and Sinclair’s undergarments had been removed, discarded on the floor around the bed. 

“Darling, could you hand me that bottle there? On the nightstand?” Sinclair was asking a bit sheepishly. 

Brendon chuckled, rolling himself over and grabbing the bottle of lubricant from the table and holding it out to him. 

“You can just call it lube...” He said when he took it. 

“I prefer to say moisturizer.” Sinclair chuckled. 

Brendon cringed. 

“That’s even worse..”

_ “Wet lotion?” _ Sinclair offered. 

Brendon laughed. 

“That’s so disgusting!” 

He squirted a bit into his hand, a lingering smile on his face. 

“Just trying to diffuse the tension.” He soothed. 

Brendon scoffed, playfully kicking his shoulder. 

“Just fuck me already, will you?” 

Sinclair clicked his tongue and shook his head. 

“Always so impatient, the skill of patience is considered a virtue you know?”

“Let’s just say my virtues are unbeknownst to most...” Brendon said. 

Sinclair grinned a bit, rubbing the lotion on his condom. 

Brendon watched him, his heart beginning to hammer once again in his chest as he prepared his mind for what was to come. 

Once the lube was properly applied, Sinclair hooked his hand under Brendon’s knee, his palm resting on his lower abdomen. He could feel his tip pressing against his entrance, it was hard to look anywhere near Sinclair (he was always a bit shy. At least, not until he felt his eyes on him).

“Look at me.” 

Brendon risked a peek, too flustered to keep his gaze. 

“I need you to look at me.” His voice was almost a whine. 

Brendon felt his toes curl at his tone, and he forced himself to meet his gaze. Sinclair slowly pushed his tip into him. 

“Watch me darling...” He panted a bit, pushing more of his length into him. 

“Watch me as I sink in.” 

He then pressed his hand firmly against his abdomen, Brendon tensing as he pushed further into him. 

_ “Inch...” _ he breathed,  _ “b-by inch.” _

He thrusted the rest of his cock into him, Brendon squeaking like a startled mouse when he did. He could feel the movement from where Sinclair was pressing down, twitching against his walls. 

Sinclair moaned. 

“ _ Shit... _ Y-you’re so tight...”

Brendon panted, trying to get himself to relax. 

“You never c-came over...” He gasped. 

Sinclair slowly pulled back before pushing himself in again. His cock was hitting against his g-spot in all the right ways. Brendon moaned, still over sensitive from his last orgasm. Tears were pricking his eyes as he began to rock his hips, his entire body trembling under him. 

_ God he’s big...and he’s not even moving that fast- _

Sinclair leaned down to him, pressing his forehead against his as his hips rolled. 

“Y-you feel so good...” He said. “Almost like you were made for me...”

It was embarrassing how well he knew Brendon, sometimes he wished the man would just pile-drive him with no regard for his pleasure. But  _ oh no, _ he always knew what would make him melt against him. Nobody had ever had that kind of effect on him before, the man could wield his lust like a sword and have him shaking with desperation without even touching him. 

“Don’t say that...” Brendon shut his eyes. 

Sinclair whimpered as he thrust once again. 

_ “But darling...” _ He whined, lips now at his ear. “You take my cock so well...”

He then began to pick up the pace, his movement smooth against him. Bottoming out before sliding almost his entire length back out, never slamming hard against him. 

Brendon moaned, his hips bucking against his movement. He could feel his hot breath against his ear, the small whimpers as he slowly worked against the knot that tangled in him. Sinclair grabbed his hand, linking his fingers with his as the other hand still pressed against his abdomen, feeling each thrust from under his shaking palm. He filled him up so perfectly, hitting all the right places that made Brendon unravel. 

“Oh my darling boy...” Brendon moaned, “y-you’re doing so well...”

He heard Sinclair practically mew in his ear, picking up the pace. 

_ “D-daddy...please-“ _

Here it was, here is where Sinclair finally broke apart. His hand slipped away from his abdomen, gripping onto his shoulders as he buried his face into the crook of his neck. Because all he really wanted to do was please him in any way he could. 

Brendon loved to hear him whine, he loved to push him harder and harder until he was practically sobbing to his touch. It got him off more than anything to hear his baritone break into high breathy cries of pleasure. The ‘daddy’ thing was a hidden surprise Sinclair didn’t even know he had until he whimpered it once, it sent Brendon into a horny frenzy of emotions. He loved to hear him beg, whining for permission. 

Brendon could now feel him starting to shake, gripping onto the blankets next to his head as his words began to melt into unintelligible whimpers. He was getting close, Brendon starting to feel another orgasm as well. Sinclair was practically pressing himself against him as close as possible, his lips pressing against his skin. 

_ “Daddy...daddy please I-I’m Ah-“  _

His voice breaking into a flurry of whimpers. 

With shaky hands, Brendon lifted his lover's face, his lips parted in a perfect ‘o’. Words couldn’t come to him, he was already too focused on finishing. His vision was already beginning to blur as Sinclair became more careless in his movement. He let Sinclair press his forehead against him again, Brendon’s hand grasping firmly against his hair, trying to keep him near him as he began to come undone. 

“S-Sinclair...Sinclair...I’m already...”

With one last thrust Brendon finally let go. Sinclair thrust out his own orgasm as well as his as, both mewling from the force of their release as they came down gasping for air. Finally Sinclair pulled out, collapsing onto the pillow next to him, chest heaving as he went about removing his thoroughly used condom. Brendon ran his hands down his face, now trying to process a second orgasm almost back to back with the first. He was covered in sweat, his heart still hammering in his chest as his legs trembled from his exercise (if you could call it that). He rolled over to grab a tissue to clean his own cum from his stomach, until he caught Sinclair’s eyes. 

“What... do you want to lick it off?”

He laughed tiredly and shook his head. 

“No I think I’ve had enough of that for one night...”

Brendon snickered, quickly wiping himself off before throwing the tissue in the garbage by his bedside. 

He rolled over, planting a few kisses onto Sinclair before laying back and stroking his chest. 

“I can’t believe you actually did that,” he said. 

“What?” Sinclair tilted his head to look at him. “Suck your dick?” He giggled at Brendon’s reddening face. 

“Must you be so direct?” Brendon asked. Sinclair nestled closer to him, bringing the blankets up to his chin. 

“Yes darling, it adds to my charm...”

He kissed his temple and wrapped his arms around his chest. 

Brendon squirmed, already beginning to sweat from the heat. 

“Go put on a sweater if you’re so cold.”

Sinclair groaned sleepily. 

“Mm but you’re so much warmer...”

Brendon sighed, pushing his side of the blankets down before settling his head into his shoulder. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a crime how much I love morning after domesticity...like can I have that? Please? (It’s even worse that my bf lives in a different state and there’s a global pandemic too)

The next morning, Sinclair was up before Brendon. Taking the time to clean up all the scattered clothes and put them into piles of who’s was what. He was pouring himself coffee in the kitchen when Brendon trudged down the steps a little passed 10am in Sinclair’s robe. 

“Good morning darling.” Sinclair chirped, eyes glancing at the robe before back at his sleep-disheveled boyfriend. 

“Oh- is that coffee?” Brendon asked. 

“Here.” Sinclair said, handing him a cup he already poured for him. 

“Lots of cream and sugar, just how you like it.” 

Brendon smiled, his heart fluttering a bit as he took the mug from him. 

“Oh my dear you are wonderful...”

Sinclair sipped his. 

“Well you’re making breakfast, it’s the least I could do.” He grinned guiltily from the rim of his cup. 

_ That little shit.  _

“Oh I see...” Brendon said. “Selfish acts framed as gifts again?” 

Sinclair hummed in response, leaning against the counter. 

“I like your robe.” He said, his eyebrow knowingly perked. 

Brendon looked down at it. 

“Shit, I’m sorry...I don’t have any other clothes-“

“It’s fine darling...it looks slimming on you.”

_ Slimming...there’s that word again. _

Brendon only raised his eyebrow. 

“Don’t be such a tease...” He said darkly, sipping his coffee. 

Sinclair laughed again, kissing his forehead. 

“Of course, not until after breakfast.”

Brendon hesitated. 

“I-I can’t stay that much longer...I have work at noon.” 

He saw Sinclair slump a bit in disappointment. 

“Oh I see...” 

“But we can still have breakfast together!”

Sinclair smiled, if it was one thing that could cheer Sinclair Bryant up it was food.

“Wonderful!” He exclaimed. “There’s bacon and eggs in the fridge, I’m sure you know how to handle that.” 

Brendon set down his coffee on the counter with a smirk. 

“Oh my dear, I was  _ born _ to make bacon and eggs.” 

Sinclair chuckled. 

“I shall then leave you to it then.” He said, before going to sit at the bar seats. 

When breakfast was made, they both sat down at the table. Sinclair practically inhaled his food before it even hit the surface, while Brendon drank more of his coffee first. 

“After this I should probably get ready to go.” Brendon said. 

“Mmph-“ Sinclair said through a mouthful of food, then swallowed. “Why?” 

“I have to shower and change for my lecture.” Brendon explained. “It’s about how the writing style of The Metamorphosis affects its interpretation...” 

Sinclair took another stab at his eggs with his fork. 

“That sounds interesting, I always sort of related to that story.” 

Brendon chuckled. 

“Do you sometimes wake up in your bed as a giant cockroach?” 

“No...” Sinclair answered casually. “But sometimes I feel like other people see me that way.” 

The calm tone of that statement almost had Brendon brush passed it, but he halted, putting his fork down. 

“I hope that doesn’t apply to me..?” Brendon asked cautiously. “I don’t think you’re a cockroach.” 

“Of course darling, I don’t think you’re one either.” Sinclair said with a smile. 

Brendon didn’t know if that was supposed to be reassuring or humorous, or maybe confusing. But he left the subject at that. 

Sinclair was the one who cleaned the dishes, Brendon finishing up his second cup of coffee. 

“You know, you could always shower here.” Sinclair then said, shutting the dishwasher. 

Brendon put his mug down.

“No, I don’t want to intrude-“

“It would hardly be intruding...” Sinclair interrupted. “In fact I’d rather you intrude then not.” 

Brendon cocked his head to the side. 

“This isn’t one of those selfish acts framed as gifts again is it?” 

Sinclair met his eyes. 

“No, I just want you around more.” he said. 

Brendon raised his eyebrow. 

“Truthfully Brendon, I do...I don’t feel as closed in when you’re here, you-“ he paused in hesitation. “you give me something to look forward to.” 

Brendon’s heart melted, staring into those hazel eyes- he found total validity in them. 

“Sinclair...” he said. “I will stay as long as I can.” 

“That’s all I ask.” Sinclair answered. 

  
  
  


After breakfast, Brendon trotted back up the stairs to take a shower. He still felt a bit embarrassed, as if he was leeching off him. But it was only for this morning, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to focus on his lecture if he still had the grime of last night on his skin. Part of him wished Sinclair would join him, they had showered together before and it was always more relaxing than erotic. Usually mornings after nights like the last consisted of satiating the primal need for closeness without the competition of sexual release. It was in those moments that Brendon felt the closest to Sinclair, under the warm stream of the shower head he felt like they both were in complete harmony with each other. 

But as Brendon lathered the shampoo into his hair he felt almost as near, it was a strangely intimate gesture sharing one’s shampoo. Sinclair was downstairs washing up (or eating more) while he bathed himself. It was as if they were living together, the casualness of two people so comfortable in each other’s space with nothing to hide from each other. Brendon was always anxious about keeping up appearances, always fussing over keeping their relationship hidden for safety. So in this privacy, he finally felt _ safe.  _

  
  
  


“Sinclair darling?” Brendon called down the stairs once he had finished bathing. 

He had dried off and wrapped himself back in the robe, he realized that the only clothes he had were his now very rumpled suit from the night before. 

“Yes?” Sinclair called back. 

“Do you mind if I wear this robe back to my condo? I’ll bring it back I promise!”

“What?” He heard Sinclair coming up the steps. 

Brendon didn’t know if he didn’t hear him or if he was confused on what he said. He didn’t respond, only standing there damp and a bit embarrassed on the threshold of the bathroom. Sinclair appeared soon after, with his plaid pajama pants and a grey t-shirt like some mildly annoyed dad having to clean up his son’s mess. 

“Do you mind if I wear this robe home with me so I can change there?” Brendon now asked meekly. 

“I’m not letting you go home in nothing but a robe darling.” Sinclair said, crossing his arms. “You can borrow some of my clothes.” 

Brendon’s eyes lit up instantly, he had always wanted to share his clothes. But he knew that Sinclair had a very complicated relationship with other people wearing things he had worn, shortly after his divorce he had burned all his clothes that she had worn during their marriage. He said that they were ‘contaminated’. So this offer to borrow his clothes was something very new. 

“R-really?” Brendon asked. “You don’t mind?” 

Sinclair thought for a moment, his features hardening. 

“No…” His face then reanimated, then he smiled. “No I don’t mind at all.”

Brendon stroked his cheek. 

“I promise I’ll wash them afterwards, I can give them right back to you this evening if you want me to.” 

“You don’t have to go  _ that _ far.” Sinclair reassured, leaning up against his palm. “I have some clothes in mind that I don't wear anymore anyway.” 

Brendon nodded silently, letting Sinclair take his hand and lead him toward his bedroom. 

Brendon backed out of the driveway, his suit piled in the backseat as he breathed in the scent of lavender from the sweater Sinclair had lent him. It was a chillier day, perhaps even a bit colder than last night. 

_ Later today I’ll drop his clothes back, if he’s not working...I hope he isn’t working today, if he is I’ll call him. _

Brendon’s heart skipped as he thought about it. He was now so happy with himself for saving the dinner date, looking back he blushed at the echoes of his sweet laughter and warm smile. 

Perhaps he was still there after all, perhaps the past was finally starting to heal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this!!! I hope you all enjoyed it, stay tuned for a Hans fic next ;)


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